


halfway there

by Cirro



Category: One Piece
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Comedy, Fluff and Humor, Loneliness, M/M, Mutual Pining, Romance, Romantic Comedy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-10
Updated: 2017-12-10
Packaged: 2019-02-13 06:18:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,448
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12977889
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cirro/pseuds/Cirro
Summary: Zoro doesn't just fall in love with Sanji. He crashes into him. Literally.





	halfway there

**Author's Note:**

> For the ZoSan Advent Calendar: Day 9. 
> 
> I was planning on writing a 2k oneshot full of silliness, maybe 5k if i was feeling especially wordy. That clearly did not happen. The initial premise of this fic was "If anyone ever asked Zoro whether or not he cared about Sanji, he would scoff in disgust. And then pointedly not deny it." This, at least, remains true.

 

If you were to listen to Usopp, the way Zoro and Sanji met went something like this:

It's the early morning, the rising sun paints the world a soft, tender pink. Crisp white snow has fallen on the pavement in a pristine untouched blanket. Someone is walking down the street, his cerulean orbs-

("Cerulean orbs?"

"Shh! Just let me tell the story!")

-gleaming in the light of dawn. As the sun breaches the horizon, the world waits with bated breath as someone steps from around the corner. Immediately, they are drawn to each other. Unable to tear his gaze away from the blond, the newcomer reaches out. The moment they touch, sparks fly, and the rest is history. 

In Zoro's opinion, no one should listen to Usopp. 

The way they meet goes more like this:

Zoro wakes up one October morning and realizes it has snowed overnight. He spends approximately twenty minutes staring out the window in abject disbelief, and another ten seconds to decide that it's way too early for this shit and rolling back to sleep, facing away from the window. Maybe if he pretends he didn’t see it, the snow will be gone by the time he wakes up.

This logic doesn’t work, unfortunately, and when Zoro wakes up again, hours later when the sun is low in the sky and the shadows are long, the world is still disappointingly white.

Coming from a place that rarely snowed let alone in goddamn _October_ , Zoro is of the opinion that he just moved to a hell hole without realizing it. Does he need a heavier jacket? Does he have appropriate boots? Should he even step outside?

Zoro squints at the offending burst of blinding snow. Maybe he should have listened to Nami when she told him he’d need something warmer than a hoodie. Not that he would ever admit that out loud.

Zoro’s tempted to go back to sleep, possibly for the next few months, but his stomach rumbles loudly, protesting against his attempt at hibernation. Through his sleep hazy mind, Zoro manages to remember that food is indeed important to sustain life and that, _oh shit_ , his fridge is completely empty.

“Oh shit,” he says, because it really warrants saying out loud.

He doesn’t really want to go to the grocery store and stock up his fridge, but he also doesn’t want to eat out on account of being broke as hell. Nami used to manage the finances when they roomed together, but now he’s on his own and Nami’s obsession with savings is finally making sense.

Grabbing his warmest clothing – a zip-up hoodie lined with fleece, but really, he’s probably going to die if he doesn’t buy something warmer if it’s already _this_ cold in _October_ – his depressingly thin wallet, and keys, Zoro makes his way out of the apartment complex.

The chill is already evident before he even steps outside, and Zoro has to pause before opening the door to collect his strength. One of the neighbours across the street gives him a weird look. Zoro ignores him.

Steeling himself, Zoro pushes the door open, squinting against the glare of the snow and the slap of cold air against his face. And then, because today seems determined to shit on him, the moment he steps outside, Zoro immediately slips on a hidden layer of ice, and flails around for all to see before reaching out to steady himself. 

Here is the part Usopp gets right. Sort of.

Zoro reaches out to steady himself the moment someone passes by. This passerby also happens to be the only steady object in reach as Zoro’s leaving his apartment building and slips on the ice, arms pinwheeling in a cartoonish parody determined to make Zoro look as stupid as possible.

Long story short, Zoro somehow ends up punching the guy in the face. 

In the split second when their eyes meet, Zoro notices a few things: the guy he's about to inadvertently punch has a tired, harassed air about him, evident in the slouch of his spine and the tufts of hair that look like they've been pulled at the entire day, sticking up from his head like a crown of bright yellow stress. The almost blue-black bags under his eyes make it seem like he rolled out of bed at the asscrack of dawn, and was forced to head home early for once and, if the confused scowl is anything to go by, doesn't really know what to do with himself now that he has free time. His arms are also laden with grocery bags, one of which contains a dozen highly breakable eggs.

The guy's eyes widen as Zoro's fist falls directly towards the center of his face, his expression going slack enough with shock that his cigarette falls out of his mouth. 

Oh shit, Zoro thinks.

Blond-and-stressed barely gets out a "What the fuck?!” before grocery bags go flying. The guy balances himself just right to catch his eggs before they land on the ice slicked concrete, but ends up with his ass firmly planted in a pile of cold, unforgiving snow. The scarf around his neck loosened when he fell, draping awkwardly against his chest. His nose is red, likely smarting from the cold and from, y'know, Zoro’s _fist to his face_ , and the guy gives Zoro the meanest, most homicidal glare he can manage. It would have probably been more effective if Zoro couldn't see the tears pricking at the corner of his eyes. 

Well, fuck.

“What the fuck, you asshole! You could have broken my eggs!” says the guy from the ground, blinking furiously against the pain. The guy’s voice cracks at the end and, shit, Zoro actually feels kinda bad.  

Zoro, miraculously still on his feet, stares at him. He's about to apologize but what comes out of his mouth instead is, “you should watch where you're going, dumbass.”

Nami always said he was an idiot.

The guy narrows his eyes at him before lunging forward and swiping Zoro's feet from under him.

“Fuck you,” says the guy with feeling. He stands up carefully, dusting snow from his ass while balancing his carton of eggs carefully in the crook of his arm.

Zoro, on his back on the ice and surrounded by a litter of grocery bags, scowls at him. The few pedestrians around give them a wide berth, some of them giving Zoro and the guy he just punched funny glances, but most ignore them.

Zoro, in a fit of pettiness or stupidity or both, says from the ground, “Well, fuck you _and_ your eggs.”

The guy makes an indignant noise, scrunching up his nose before wincing in pain. It almost makes Zoro want to grin. But then the guy glares and starts collecting his grocery bags, fully intent on ignoring Zoro and going on his way, turning away slightly to rub at his nose gingerly.

Zoro sits up so quickly he skids a bit on the ice.

“Wait! Uh, want some help with those?” he says, gesturing to the grocery bags. He carefully peels himself away from the ice, and manages to stand on his own two feet without punching another person. Zoro feels inexplicably proud of this accomplishment; sometimes you just have to take a win no matter how small the victory.

The guy narrows his eyes at him, suspicion in every wrinkle of his brow. The silence goes on long enough that Zoro thinks the guy is about to say no and possibly throw an egg at him, but instead Zoro gets two grocery bags thrust in his face. The guy keeps the one with the eggs.

“I don't trust you with the eggs but you might as well make yourself useful,” says the guy, somehow reading Zoro’s mind.  

“Tch. Ungrateful bastard,” mutters Zoro, but he takes the bags anyway, nearly snatching them out of the guy’s hands.

The guy squawks, his nest of stressed blond hair sticking up in further disarray like a bristling chicken. It’s – god help Zoro for even thinking this – _adorable_.

Zoro seriously needs to figure out his name because Blond-Stressed-And-A-Hot-Mess is the best he’s got so far and Zoro thinks he might get kicked in the nuts if he ever said it aloud.

“You _punched me in the face_!” yells the guy, gesturing at his face wildly. His nose has turned an angry red, and another curl of hair lets loose from his head. “You should be fucking grateful I’m even allowing you to touch my precious groceries!”

“It was an accident!” protests Zoro for lack of a better thing to say. The guy crosses his arms and gives him an unimpressed look. Zoro has seen that look way too many times from Nami to be affected by it.

“Yeah, alright, you photosynthetic asshole,” says the guy sarcastically. “I’m sure you get punched by accident all the time. Must be your face. It just attracts fists like nothing else.”

“No, that would be _your_ face,” he says, gesturing to the guy’s red nose. “And it's Zoro.”

The guy blinks at him.

“Huh?”

“The name's Zoro. Not photowhatever,” says Zoro, flapping his hand in the air vaguely.

“Well, then, _Zoro_ ,” his name rolls off the guy’s tongue like sour milk, “do you make it a habit to punch people in the face?” he pauses to add skeptically, “‘Accidentally?’”

Zoro can practically see the quotations floating in the air.

“Maybe,” says Zoro without missing a beat, deadpan. The guy stares at him in disbelief, but then nearly cracks a smile, the corner of his lips tugging up almost reluctantly. Zoro mentally pumps his fist at the breakthrough.

“Oh my god, you're a neanderthal. A green neanderthal,” says the guy, with that little smile still on his lips.

“And you’re a loser, curly brow,” says Zoro. It doesn’t come out as scathing as he wanted it to, but Zoro really couldn’t be blamed for being distracted by that smile. But then it drops off the guy’s face entirely, his eyes going wide.

“Don’t call me that, you bastard!” yells the guy, slapping a hand over his one visible eyebrow. A flush starts creeping up the back of the guy’s neck, and now Zoro’s even _more_ distracted. 

Zoro shrugs, still staring at the pink flush in what little skin is exposed to the chilly air. Goosebumps prickle behind his neck.

“It’s not like I know your name,” says Zoro, a little too casually, swinging the grocery bags back and forth. They’re heavy, the plastic stretched to a breaking point. He’s not sure how the guy managed to carry so many at once.  

In the ensuing silence, Zoro lets his eyes trail from the soft looking skin of the guy’s throat, up to his lips, the red of his nose, and finally to his eyes. They’re partially covered by the fringe of his bangs and the hand still slapped to his eyebrow, but they’re narrowed in suspicion. The guy gives him a sidelong glance like he knows exactly what Zoro’s up to.

“It's Sanji,” says the guy – _Sanji_ – finally. “My name. It's Sanji.”

Score.

 

* * *

 

The moment they get back to Sanji’s place, Sanji goes directly into the kitchen space to put away his eggs, throwing his jacket and scarf onto the arm of his couch with little care. He turns back to glare at Zoro, pointing silently to his feet. Zoro rolls his eyes but takes a moment to stomp his feet outside the door to get rid of the excess snow before stepping in.

The gust of warm air is a welcome relief. He can almost feel his fingers again.

Zoro absentmindedly sets down the rest of the bags of groceries on the kitchen countertop for Sanji to put away and immediately starts looking around.

Sanji's apartment is modest and relatively empty. There’s enough space to fit one and a half people, maybe two if the second person had, like, three possessions. There's a pet turtle in a glass tank in one corner, basking in the warmth of the lamp light, and books strewn across the coffee table in an organized way at odds with a typical student's study habits, with little sticky notes poking out of the pages at random intervals.

Weird diagrams are laid out in neat piles, one with a ring of coffee stained on the edge, and when Zoro takes a closer look, he can see that they're drawings of all sorts of fish and marine life, neatly labeled with a nearly illegible scrawl. Zoro traces one of the sketches labelled _Pterapogon kauderni_ in big block letters. Sanji’s written something on the side that looks like ‘cape pearly’ with a smiley face next to it. If Zoro squints, it kind of just looks like a half-hearted scribble of some truly uninventive grass.

Zoro flips through the pile of sketches, and there’s another one with a blue whale, the pencil lead smudging the details. None of the writing on the sides is legible.

The kitchen and living room share the same space, separated only by a possibly fake granite countertop serving as a bar.

A photo frame lies face down on the counter near the wall, almost unnoticeable.

There’s a weird stain on one of the curtains, and a couch that clearly has seen better days decorated with mismatched pillows in all sorts of sizes. Sanji catches him squinting suspiciously at the stain and rolls his eyes.

“Don't bother asking about the curtains. It's a long story,” says Sanji, turning back to the fridge where he's putting away a bag of carrots. Zoro thinks he hears him mutter something about a ‘Goofy’ chewing the curtains. A dog, maybe. Zoro carefully does not touch the curtain.

“What do you want?” says Sanji. He’s still crouched in front of the open fridge, frowning deeply at its contents like they’ve broken into his place just to beat up his pet turtle. Zoro can only see the top of his head, somehow even more unruly now than it was outside. Sanji keeps trying to push some of the looser strands away from his face but it’s clearly not working, instead working up a static that keeps strands of his hair sticking to the sides of his face or reaching for the fridge door.

“What?” says Zoro, distracted by a fluff of hair let loose from the orbit of Sanji’s head.

“To eat. What do you want?” Sanji stands up and slams the fridge door shut. His lock of hair flails weakly but manages to stay upright. Zoro forces himself to focus. Sanji turns to look Zoro straight in the eye, glaring like he’s expecting Zoro to contradict him. “And before you start protesting, I’m not letting you leave without something in your stomach so you might as well just sit the fuck down and tell me what you want.”

“Pushy,” says Zoro. “What makes you think I’m going to let you poison me?” His stomach takes that moment to betray him loudly. Sanji gives him a pointed look, hand on his hip.

“Well?” asks Sanji.

“Onigiri,” Zoro says after a moment of deliberation. He wonders if Sanji will know what it is, but Sanji just nods.

Sanji heads to the pantry for the rice, grabbing a garishly pink apron from the hook inside along the way. He ties the strings behind his back with deft fingers, not even pausing to fumble with the loops.

“Any filling you prefer?” Sanji’s voice is slightly muffled from where he’s bent over and scooping up the rice into the bowl of the rice cooker.

Zoro shrugs. “Don’t really care.”

Sanji sighs like it’s a huge inconvenience even though he’s the one offering Zoro food and nearly forcing him to sit down to eat it. Sanji stands up to look at him, hands on his hips with the bowl tucked in the bend of his arm, and Zoro gets his first full view of the cartoon panda printed on the front of his apron. It’s very round, with beady black eyes and a coy smile that’s more evil than shy in Zoro’s humble opinion.

“Fine. It might take a while,” says Sanji, raising an eyebrow. Or maybe both eyebrows. It’s hard to tell with the bangs in his face.

“No problem,” says Zoro. As if Zoro’s going to leave when he’s about to get free food. “Got nothing else to do.”

“Good, because you’re helping me with the dishes afterward,” says Sanji. He leans across the counter to glare down at Zoro, almost daring him to refuse. It’s actually somewhat intimidating despite the bright pink apron and his bird’s nest of hair.

Sanji’s position allows Zoro a very nice view of the dip in his collarbone. Zoro tries not to stare. The adorably round cartoon panda printed on the front might start giving him the stink eye.

Zoro has half a mind to rise to the unspoken challenge for absolutely no other reason than to annoy Sanji.

“...What if I don’t want to,” says Zoro, just to rile Sanji up.

It works way too easily.

Sanji looks at him like he can’t believe what he’s hearing, drawing back in surprise, his eyebrow twitching with annoyance and what’s probably the barely repressed urge to strangle Zoro.

“You punched me in the face, so you better help with the dishes,” says Sanji slowly, taking care to enunciate each word like he thinks Zoro’s a dumbass. It’s probably not far from the truth.

“I helped you with the groceries,” Zoro points out. Damned if Zoro’s going to let the shitty cook know he still feels guilty about the whole incident.

“You _punched_ me in the face,” Sanji repeats. “And you almost broke my eggs!” His brow dips down, his frown settling deeper over his eyes, the very picture of anticipated revenge for some almost ill-fated eggs. They stare at each other from across the counter. Zoro imagines he can almost hear thunder rolling in the distance.

After about twenty seconds of an intense attempt at intimidation from Sanji’s ridiculously curly eyebrows and being accosted by the cartoon panda’s judging stare, Zoro finally relents.

“Fine,” he says, crossing his arms, “but your food better be worth it.”

Sanji smirks. The panda smiles in victory.

“Marimo, if my food doesn’t make you come back for seconds, I’ll let my old man kick my ass. Hell, I’ll kick my own ass.”

 

* * *

 

Zoro ends up getting seconds if only to save Sanji’s admittedly fantastic ass from an embarrassing and pathetic demise.

They’re sitting down at the coffee table on account of it being the only table in Sanji’s place. It’s not really big enough for two people to sit down at, but Zoro’s not going to complain. He could use his own stomach as a table if need be, and has done so many times when he’s just too lazy to sit up.

Sanji, on the other hand, can’t seem to sit still long enough to actually relax. He gets up to check his calendar, to feed his pet turtle, to grab a pack of cigarettes, to put some onigiri into a container. Every time Zoro thinks he’s done, Sanji gets up again.

After the sixth time this happens, Sanji must notice the bewildered look on Zoro’s face because he says, “forgot to fold my laundry,” by way of explanation even though it doesn’t really explain anything.

Zoro has no idea why anyone would waste their time folding clothes but doesn’t have a chance to voice this piece of wisdom to Sanji because his mouth is full. He’d feel bad for spitting all over Sanji’s notes even though it probably wouldn’t affect the legibility that much.

Zoro’s just moving Sanji’s notes out of the way of any potential sprayed food when Sanji comes back to the main room with a basket of laundry. He sits down on the floor, cross legged, across from Zoro. From his higher point of view, Zoro can see colourful hoodies and hideous button up shirts mixed in the pile, a few pairs of boxers, a few well-worn jeans, and a large number of socks. Zoro shoves the rest of his food in his mouth and then says, “You have shit taste.”

Bits of rice fly out of his mouth but land safely on the cleared table. Sanji grimaces at him.

“And you’re disgusting,” says Sanji.

Zoro pauses. He’s a grown adult. He shouldn’t. But one look at Sanji’s face and Zoro has the irrepressible urge to chew with his mouth wide open.

Sanji’s glaring at him like he knows exactly what Zoro’s about to do, eyes narrowed and lips curled in displeasure.

Zoro opens his mouth.

“Don’t-”

“Don’t what?” asks Zoro. Or tries to; it comes out more like ‘dun waff’. More bits of rice fly out, still a safe distance from Sanji’s quirky fish sketches. Zoro picks up the half-chewed pieces and plops them back in his mouth. He swallows, watching every twitch in Sanji’s eyebrow.

Sanji’s glaring at him with enough heat to turn Zoro into a crispy burnt out husk.

Zoro silently grabs a tissue and wipes the table. Then he drops the crumpled tissue on the table just to annoy Sanji.

Sanji is gritting his teeth hard enough to be audible, but Zoro just smirks. Sanji seems to know what he’s trying to do though, because he just _hmphs_ and turns back to his laundry, grabbing the first item on the pile.

It’s a hideously bright shirt emblazoned with fluorescent red flowers on every spare piece of cloth in an effort to burn out the retinas of anyone looking. The colour remains imprinted on the back of his eyelids even when Zoro blinks.

Sanji must notice the abject horror on Zoro’s face but instead of being reasonable and setting the shirt on fire, Sanji eyes him disdainfully instead, holding up the offending piece of clothing and shaking out the wrinkles.

“What the hell are you looking at?” says Sanji, still refusing to look at the crumpled up tissue between them.

“The second ugliest thing I’ve ever seen in my life,” says Zoro, still trying to blink out the afterimages of red flowers from his sight.

“This is _fashion_ ,” says Sanji, sniffing disdainfully. “And you’re a rude bastard.”

“Is fashion meant to blind people?” asks Zoro dryly, wiping his hands off on his pants. He wants thirds – or fifths if you’re counting, which Zoro _isn’t_ , thank you very much – but he doesn’t want to give Sanji any sort of satisfaction. Or, at least, any more of it.

“If it’s you, then _gladly_ ,” says Sanji, folding the shirt quickly and efficiently.

“You are such an asshole.”

Sanji shoots him a withering look.

“Says the bastard who punched an innocent, unsuspecting pedestrian in the face.”

Zoro shrugs, uncaring. He’s met his maximum quota of guilt for the day, hell, maybe even the entire year. Point is, Zoro no longer feels guilty about punching Sanji in the face. Sanji’s nose isn’t even that red anymore. “I’ve already paid my debt. We’re even now.”

“Oh no, not until you help wash the dishes, _marimo,_ ” says Sanji, enunciating the last word with a threatening shake of his boxers. Little straw hats are printed on them in a colourful mishmash of yellow and red. Zoro grabs it out of his hands.

Before Sanji can react and possibly murder him, Zoro balls up the boxers, and then throws it at Sanji’s head just because he can. It hits Sanji square on the curl of his eyebrow and unfurls all over half of his face, draping over his shoulder. Sanji’s mouth drops open in indignation, fury building in his eyes.

“Don’t call me that,” says Zoro, fighting to keep a straight face.

There’s a moment when Zoro thinks he might be seeing his life flash before his eyes while stubbornly refusing to move from his place on the couch, impending death be damned, before Sanji shoots up on his feet and dumps the rest of his laundry load on top of Zoro.

Zoro will forever deny the sound that comes out of his mouth.

After an embarrassing moment of flailing among Sanji’s underwear and socks, Zoro finally makes his way out of the colourful heap, ready to retaliate with a sock in each hand. He briefly considers shoving one in his mouth for extra ammunition, but pauses abruptly when he sees Sanji doubled over in quiet laughter, his straw hat boxers still draped across his shoulders like a cape. Sanji’s shoulders are shaking, hand clapped over his mouth like he’s trying to hold back the snickers working their way out of his throat but can’t help the little snorts that keep escaping.

Zoro gives himself a moment to marvel at the sight before flopping back down onto Sanji’s couch, letting his weaponry fall out of his hands, inexplicably pleased and grinning despite the blinding green-on-orange shirt hanging off his head.

“It’s not funny,” says Zoro, still grinning.

Another helpless snort tumbles out of Sanji’s mouth. When he finally looks up at Zoro, Sanji almost looks fond.

Zoro barely knows this guy and it’s nearly impossible not to return the look.

“It really, really is,” says Sanji. “Besides, you should take it as a compliment. Marimo can be pretty cute.”

Zoro stares at him, still sprawled out among Sanji’s underwear. He’s pretty sure there’s a balled-up sock digging in between shoulder blades, possibly from his attempt at making ammunition to lob at Sanji’s head, but can’t really seem to bring himself to care at the moment.

“Did you just call me cute?” Zoro asks, bewildered.

Sanji eyes widen.

“What?!” Sanji nearly yells. A red, glaring blush is starting to work its way up Sanji face. Another tuft of hair frees itself from Sanji’s head and wavers in the air. Zoro stares, fascinated. “Shut up! I didn’t say that! I hate you!”

“Wow, you punch a guy in the face once and he starts insulting you for no reason,” says Zoro, still dazed from Sanji’s laugh, his fond look, the pink flush of his cheeks.

Sanji scowls at him. It does nothing to abate the rush of affection in Zoro’s veins.

“Shut up,” says Sanji, still a little red. He slips the boxers off his shoulders and throws them in Zoro’s direction. It drifts harmlessly onto his face. Zoro lifts up one of the legs and peers at Sanji who has his arms crossed defensively in front of him, looking everywhere but at him.

In a rare display of tact, Zoro says, “Do you tell everyone who helps you with the dishes to shut up?”

Sanji’s shoulders lose some of their tension. He turns to look at Zoro, cheeks still tinged red.

“Always,” says Sanji, deadpan. “Especially after they trash my laundry.”

“That was your fault, curly brow,” says Zoro, sitting up and pushing his way out of the pile of horrible fashion sense. Zoro digs out the sock that was digging into his back, unrolling it and holding it up for inspection. It has a pixelated lady with a generous bust stitched onto the side, clad only in a skimpy red bikini, with pink hearts decorating the space around her head. Both of Zoro’s eyebrows rise.

Sanji snatches it from his hand.

“Shut up,” says Sanji.

“I didn’t say anything.”

For some reason that just makes Sanji scowl harder.

“Shut up and help me with the dishes,” snaps Sanji.

Zoro groans dramatically and, in the most long-suffering voice he can manage just to watch Sanji roll his eyes, says, “fine.”

Not only do Sanji’s eyes roll so hard they practically fall out of his head, his lips also twitch up like he’s trying to hold back another smile. The end result is a crooked-looking smirk that still somehow makes Zoro’s heart skip a beat.

 

* * *

 

Washing the dishes almost ends in a water fight but they somehow manage to get them done without breaking anything. Zoro had been roped into cleaning the floors as punishment, which was ridiculously unfair in Zoro’s opinion. But he lets the matter slide because, somehow or another, Sanji’s already questionable curtain ends up with another questionable stain in the process and it’s one hundred percent not his fault.

Zoro’s in the process of placing the curtain in such a way to hide the new stain when he notices how dark it is outside. October nights come earlier and the days are a dreary grey due to the perpetual cloud cover, but Zoro could have sworn it had been only a couple of hours, not an entire half day.

The realization that Zoro’s been at Sanji’s place for so long without him even noticing the passing time is jarring.

“I should probably get going,” says Zoro reluctantly. Sanji’s in the process of putting away the dishes, and Zoro sees the way he freezes for just a moment.

“Oh,” says Sanji, surprised. He glances at the window and, sure enough, the street lights are on and casting ugly orange light through the glass. It’s snowing; a light, meandering snowfall that dusts the pavement in the evening twilight. Some foolishly romantic people might describe it as ‘picturesque’ and ‘in line with the holiday spirit’, but all it means to Zoro is that there’s now going to be a fine coating of snow hiding patches of ice. If Zoro manages to not accidentally punch anyone on the way home, he’s going to consider it a miracle.

“I didn’t realize it got so late,” murmurs Sanji.

“Yeah, me neither,” says Zoro. He’s reluctant to leave, not just because he’s not really looking forward to walking back home in just his hoodie, but it’s not like he could stay the night or something. He barely even knows Sanji.

Sanji follows Zoro to the entranceway, leaning against the wall to watch Zoro slip his boots on. They’re both quiet and subdued in contrast to an entire afternoon of fooling around, enough that Zoro can almost make out the muffled _tick tock_ of a clock hidden somewhere in the apartment. Sanji has an unlit cigarette rolled between his fingers, his arms crossed in front of him. One of his hands is tapping out a nervous rhythm against his ribs.

After a moment of watching Zoro shove his feet into his boots, Sanji pushes off from the wall and disappears back into the main room. Zoro resists the urge to crane his head around and sneak a peek.

Sanji comes back a moment later with a familiar strip of blue cloth and unceremoniously drops it right on top of Zoro’s head.

Before Zoro can start another fight, Sanji says, “Here. A scarf.”

Zoro slips the scarf off his head and stares at it, dumbfounded. It’s the same one Sanji was wearing earlier. It's soft and warm and smells vaguely like tobacco.

“Uh.” 

Sanji rolls his eyes.

“It’s for you, dumbass,” says Sanji.

“But it’s yours,” says Zoro. The fabric is pilling at bit from use and the colour is somewhat faded. It must be both well-worn and well-loved.

Sanji shrugs.

“It’s cold out there,” he says, like that explains why Sanji’s letting him borrow his scarf, why Sanji indirectly invited Zoro to his place, why Sanji gave him food even after getting punched in the face.

When Zoro still doesn’t move, Sanji sighs and steps forward, taking the scarf from Zoro’s slack hands. Gently, he loops it around Zoro’s neck and tucks the tail ends into his hoodie, tugging the zipper up as high as possible. Sanji’s hands seem to linger against his chest a second longer than normal. Then again, that might just be because Zoro can’t help but lean into the warmth of his palm. If he takes just one step forward, tilts his head to the side, Zoro imagines he could probably touch his lips to Sanji’s.

The thought skitters away as fast as it came. It’s… too weird to feel this way. Zoro barely knows him.

Sanji pats him on the chest, smoothing down invisible wrinkles, and steps back.

“There. Should help you with the cold a bit. The cold isn’t too bad yet, so you should be okay for now.”

Sanji turns, snatching the container of extra onigiri from the kitchen counter. He shoves the container into Zoro’s hands and looks away, scratching at the back of neck with one hand, twirling the cigarette stick between the fingers of the other.

In the dim lighting of the entranceway, Sanji looks tired and anxious, the golden hue of his hair dulled into resembling a stack of dry straw. The streetlights cast a sickly glow over his silhouette. A sudden gust of wind rattles the window, sending a rush of snow scraping against the glass, before settling into silence. It weighs on both of them, awkward in a way it hadn’t been before.

Zoro shoves his hand into his pocket, resisting the urge to reach out and tug Sanji closer.

“Next time, wear a heavier jacket,” says Sanji. “You’re going to freeze once November hits.”

“‘Next time’?” asks Zoro.

Sanji raises an eyebrow.

“Are you planning on keeping my scarf, marimo?” Sanji rocks back on his heels as he says it, tilting his head to the side. It’s a playful gesture but Sanji’s face is carefully neutral.

Zoro hums, rolling his shoulders.

“It is pretty warm. What if I want to keep it?”

Instead of rising to the bait, Sanji only shrugs and doesn’t answer. It’s like there’s another conversation going on that Zoro’s not privy to, one where Sanji answers without saying anything.

Zoro thinks about the sole coffee table in Sanji’s apartment, only covered with work and obviously not for guests. He thinks about the way Sanji couldn’t seem to keep still, how he made enough food for five people but didn’t eat any of it, like he couldn’t help himself. Zoro thinks about the photo frame, barely visible from where he’s standing, facedown and tucked away but obviously still there, a wound ignored.

There doesn’t seem to be any other photographs in the entire place.

In the moment between one breath and the next, Zoro comes to a realization: Sanji doesn’t care if he keeps the scarf, but he definitely cares about something else.

Next time, Sanji had said.

Zoro burrows the lower half of his face into the scarf. His voice comes out muffled when he says, “don’t want any of your shitty stuff anyway, so I guess I’ll have to come by again and return it.”

He’s rewarded with a flick to the forehead.

“Ow,” says Zoro, scrunching his brows together.

Sanji smiles. It’s wobbly and hopeful and Zoro feels his heart catch in his throat. Somehow, Zoro is endeared to him all over again.

“Guess I’ll see you later then,” says Sanji. It sounds more like a question than anything else but Zoro doesn’t comment on it.

“Right.” Zoro nods, suddenly feeling awkward. He clears his throat, reaching for the door knob. “Thanks for the food. And the scarf.”

“Anytime,” says Sanji softly, like that declaration isn’t monumental and earth shattering, as if it’s completely normal to invite a stranger in, fool around with them like they’ve known each other for years, and then not-ask them to come back.

Zoro pulls open the door and steps out of Sanji’s apartment. Almost immediately, he’s hit in the face with the prickling cold, his breath leaving in a cloud of condensation that dissipates quickly in the air. He turns back, maybe to say something else, though he’s not really sure what. Good night, maybe.

Sanji’s in the process of lighting up his cigarette, and glances up in time to see Zoro staring back at him before the door falls closed between them.

 

* * *

 

“Usopp, what the hell is wrong with me?”

The bar is empty, not yet open for business, and Zoro’s staring sightlessly out the window where crystals have formed in the corners like frosted flowers. The patch of ice that made him accidentally punch Sanji in the face was still outside the apartment complex when he was heading off the work, and he may or may not have slipped and bonked his head on the pavement this time around. It would certainly explain why he can’t stop thinking about Sanji and the warmth of his palm on Zoro’s chest despite it being altogether _creepy_.

Usopp pauses, a glass dangling from one of his hands. He gives Zoro a confused look.

“Um, what?” Usopp’s voice comes out as a squeak, but Zoro barely even registers his presence.

“I’m so screwed. What should I do?” says Zoro, mind still a million miles away, focused on chasing the phantom warmth of some guy he barely knows.

“Uh, you could probably get the first order,” says Usopp. Zoro blinks, turning his head slightly in Usopp’s direction without moving the rest of his body. “I mean, if you want to. Zoro. Sir.”

“You’re no help.”

Peering at his face more closely, Usopp springs upright and puffs out his chest.

“Tell you what,” he says, jabbing a thumb at his chest, “the Great Usopp will lend you an ear before this place opens. Now, tell me your qualms, dear Zoro, and I shall bestow upon thee the greatest of wisdoms!”

Usopp finishes his declaration by striking a dramatic pose, complete with a fake, cheesy grin full of sparkling white teeth. Zoro resists the urge to shield his eyes, opting to give Usopp a bland look instead.

After a few seconds to let Usopp sweat, Zoro turns away to rest his head on his crossed arms. He catches a glimpse of blue from the scarf he brought with him before he lets his eyes close and promptly falls into a light doze.

“…Hey,” says Usopp from over his head.

Zoro lets out a loud snore. He’s just going to have to call Nami later.

 

* * *

 

Truth be told, Zoro has no idea when and how he and Nami became friends. They were from the same high school, but it’s not like they ever really talked. There had been a lot of rumours about her, both good and bad, but Zoro had thought they were all a waste of time to listen to. He was much more concerned with getting through classes and sleeping during his breaks whenever he could.

The school didn’t take lightly to students napping in the hallway though, so Zoro had to get creative with where he passed out. The washrooms were always a convenient spot when he couldn’t be bothered to search. It just so happened that the walls were thin enough that he could hear into the girls’ washroom as well, enough that he could hear someone quietly crying.

Zoro, grouchy and bleary from getting woken up, had immediately marched over and demanded what the fuck was wrong, and had been confronted with an embarrassed and upset Nami. That was their first official meeting, and Zoro spent the rest of the day sitting beside her, listening to her worries and glaring at anyone who dared enter the girls’ washroom.

He had gotten yelled at by the principal the next day, getting reprimanded on ‘respect’ and ‘boundaries’ and to ‘just sleep at home, what the hell is wrong with you’, but he couldn’t bring himself to really care. Zoro didn’t expect anything to change but somehow he had ended up friends with Nami from that day forward.

And now she’s the one reliable person he can think of to call about asking for advice on Sanji.

Zoro’s thumb hovers over Nami’s contact photo. It’s from last summer when they went to the beach. Well, it was more from when she wanted to go the beach and bribed Zoro into being her pack mule. She’s winking and poking out her tongue, holding a bright orange cocktail in her hand.

“I’m cute,” she had said, putting her contact information in his phone, even though Zoro hadn’t given her his phone or said anything.

He’s not scared of her, he’s _not_. It’s just... Nami can be terrifying when she wants to be. She’s sly and clever and playful, but she’s also smart as hell and could probably drag out every dark secret Zoro never knew he had if she really wanted to.

Zoro steels himself and then presses down on the ‘talk’ button.

Nami picks up on the third ring.

“What?” says Nami instead of ‘hello’. Some people might be annoyed but Zoro appreciates how direct she is. Not that he’d tell her.

“I have a problem,” says Zoro.

“Wow,” she says, tone flat. “What a surprise. I’m shocked. Can you tell how shocked I am?”

Zoro can imagine the expression on her face as clearly as if she were standing in front of him. She does not look impressed. In fact, the mental image of Nami isn’t even looking at him, more interested in inspecting her long nails and wondering how best to claw out someone’s (Zoro’s) dignity.

Nami sighs like he’s an idiot. Zoro resists the urge to ask if she can read his mind.

“So. What did you do?”

“Why do you assume it’s something I did?” asks Zoro. He knows he’s stalling but he can’t help it. This is a topic he has never showed an interest in and he has no idea how to go about it.

Nami lets out another sigh.

“Fine, what happened?”

“...I did something.”

She leaves a very pointed silence hanging between them.

“Uh huh,” says Nami eventually, bone dry and completely unsurprised. “So. What did you do?” she asks again.

Zoro’s not really sure how to explain his predicament, so he decides to start from the beginning.

“I punched him in the face.”

“You _what?!_ Who?!” Nami screeches. Zoro has to hold his phone away from his ear.

Okay, not the best start.

“He seemed fine! He even let me come over! He gave me food! Besides, that’s not the problem!” exclaims Zoro, gesturing to the now empty container of onigiri. Nami can’t see it but Zoro thinks it serves his point aptly.

“Okay, first, why would you punch someone in the face?” asks Nami. She sounds like she’s kneading her temples. Zoro opens his mouth but Nami immediately interrupts him with, “Wait- I actually don’t want to know. It was probably something stupid.” Zoro closes his mouth. “More importantly, who in their right mind would even let you into their place after you punched them in the face?”

“It’s a… long story. Sort of. I have no idea why he let me in. He just... did.”

It’s still bewildering to him that there’s someone who would just invite a stranger into their home after basically getting assaulted in the street for no apparent reason. Zoro knows if someone punched him in the face, accident or not, he’d hit back and probably get arrested for it. So it’s absolutely incomprehensible that there’s someone like Sanji who, for all his threats and glares, will not only let it slide, but will show you that he _cares_ about you despite it all.

Nami must pick up something from his tone because her voice suddenly lights up with a teasing lilt.

“Hold on,” she says. A shiver of warning spikes up Zoro’s back. Frantically thinking back to the last few minutes of their conversation, Zoro tries to remember if he said anything incriminating. He doesn’t think so, but she must have picked up on something because she continues with, “Is this guy… cute?”

Zoro groans. “Ugh, he has horrible fashion sense, don’t even say that.”

Nami hums, somehow sounding smug and pleased without a word.

“What?” snaps Zoro.

“I didn’t hear you deny it is all,” purrs Nami.

Zoro splutters.

“I- what the fuck are you even going on about, damn witch! Why would I ever think that about him? He’s pushy as hell and calls me names.” But even as he says it, Zoro thinks back to Sanji’s gentle hands, the warmth of his scarf, the curve of his smile. His heart stutters involuntarily.

“Aww is this your first crush, Zoro?” says Nami, all glee.

Zoro groans into his hands. The tinny sound of Nami’s laughter floats up from the phone’s receiver.

“Okay, okay, I’ll stop,” she says. “For now. What’s up though? It doesn’t seem like you to call me about something like this.”

“I have no idea what I’m doing,” Zoro admits, running his hand through the short crop of his hair. “I didn’t even ask him for his number.”

Nami hums in thought. “Y’know what, this is probably a conversation we need to have in person.”

Zoro’s eyes narrow. “You just want to scope him out,” he accuses. 

“Well, _yeah_ , obviously. There are just some things you can’t figure out until you actually get to see the person,” she says, the faint clacking of a keyboard sounding from the receiver. “I’m flying up there during the long weekend anyway. Make sure you’re free.”

“What if I have plans?”

“Zoro, you and I both know your plans were probably to sleep in or work out. So I take precedence,” says Nami, matter-of-fact.

“You say that about everything.”

“Because it’s true,” she says, smirk evident in the tone of her voice. “Keep your schedule free or else, okay?” she adds sweetly.

Zoro doesn’t question what ‘or else’ might mean. He nods even though Nami can’t see him. Somehow she always knows anyway.

“Great!” she says. “I’ll see you soon then.” It’s said in the devious, overly sweet tone she uses when she knows she’s gotten her way.

“You’re terrible,” he says and hangs up, her laughter still ringing in his ears.

 

* * *

 

“Alright, what’s his name?” asks Nami. Her nose and cheeks are pink from the cold, and she’s rubbing her hands together to get them warm.

They’ve barely just sat down at some fancy café that was apparently recommended to her by a friend, and, in true Nami-fashion, skipped the pleasantries altogether. It’s not like Zoro would have engaged in said pleasantries, but he’s not sure he’s completely prepared for this conversation.

“Why can’t you just let me sit in peace for a damn minute,” mutters Zoro, taking off his newly bought jacket – which was actually made to withstand unreasonably cold temperatures somehow – and carefully folding Sanji’s scarf beside him. So he might be a little attached, so what? It’s a nice scarf and it keeps him warm, especially on November evenings like this one when the sun sets at the ridiculous hour of five.

The cold has been a lot more prominent lately, with most early mornings and nights dropping to subzero temperatures and leaving behind a blanket of frost on absolutely _everything_. The temperature peaks at noon and dies off soon after, leaving Zoro to wonder if he’s ever felt sunlight in his life or if it’s all been a figment of his imagination as he slowly succumbs to the chill of November. Judging by the way his fingers are stiff and unwilling to move, Zoro would bet on the latter.

“Zoro, do you want my help or not?” asks Nami, all calm but fake professionalism.

“Yeah, yeah, damn witch,” he says, tapping his fingers nervously on the wooden table. Zoro hesitates. It’s not that he doesn’t trust Nami, it’s that he really, really doesn’t want to admit it. “His name is Sanji.”

Nami makes a questioning noise in the back of her throat, tilting her head to the side.

“Weird. That name sounds really familiar,” she says, tapping a perfectly manicured nail on her chin.

And really, the universe must seriously have a grudge against Zoro because the exact moment Nami finishes her sentence, the waiter comes out with their order and lo and fucking behold, it’s fucking _Sanji_. He’s wearing a traditional white chef’s uniform and balancing a tray on top of his head even though he clearly has one hand free. A cigarette is tucked behind his ear.

“Welcome to the Baratie! Here’s your order, my lovely lady!” trills Sanji, all sickly smiles and adoring eyes. Somehow, he manages to execute a perfect pirouette without dropping anything. The tray on his head stays perfectly level. He doesn’t even notice Zoro.  

Zoro gapes. Who the fuck is _this_ guy? Zoro might have thought Sanji had a twin if not for the familiar bags under his eyes and the slowly collapsing structural integrity of his hair.

“Oh, thank you!” says Nami, batting her eyelashes, ignorant to Zoro’s brain short-circuiting across from her. “I admit it was a little pricey but my friend recommended this place, so I just had to try it!” she says, voice pitched into a flirty lilt.

Sanji blinks at her and then grins, boyish and free. “Then I must insist that we give you a discount. Money is nothing compared to your smile,” he says, nearly star-struck by Nami.

“You’re too sweet,” she says, touching his wrist lightly when he places her latte in front of her.

Sanji seems to melt on the spot, spinning in place with a flourish.

“It’s no problem for someone as lovely as yourself!” he says, voice pitched higher like he’s about to break into song.

Zoro feels like he’s stepped into the twilight zone.

Sanji places the other plate in front of Zoro. “Here’s your order,” says Sanji flatly, addressing Zoro. He barely gives him a glance, but then Sanji freezes and does a double take. Blinking, he says, back to his normal baritone, “Zoro?”

Nami looks back and forth between them, both eyebrows slowly making their way up to her hairline. Zoro can see the way she’s piecing everything together. He wonders if she notices the way his heart skips a beat. He really hopes not. Even if Nami doesn’t have supernatural hearing, she somehow figures it out anyway because the moment her eyes widen minutely, Zoro knows he’s done for.

“Hey,” says Zoro, trying to stay cool. His voice comes out raspy. Nami takes a sip of her latte, eyebrows somehow going even higher.

“What are you doing here?” asks Sanji.

“Just catching up with old friends,” says Nami. Sanji startles like he forgot she was sitting there and turns back to her. An embarrassed blush starts working its way up his neck. “Right, Zoro?”

He can’t fucking believe this is happening.

“Right,” says Zoro weakly. He’s vaguely surprised he can still form words because there’s a mantra going through his head that mostly consists of ‘oh, shit.’

“And Zoro was just telling me that he got a new phone and lost all his contacts,” says Nami, all innocent and unassuming. “So I was about to give him my number again.” She pauses. Zoro’s pretty sure the pause is a very pointed message towards him. She couldn’t have been more obvious if she had pulled out a sign that said ‘hey, Zoro, get his number already!’

“Hey, Sanji, was it?” she continues.

“Oh, um, yes?” He gives her a confused smile on reflex, his eyes darting back to Zoro for a split second.

Nami smiles sweetly at him. There’s a hint of teeth but Zoro doesn’t think Sanji’s notices because he relaxes in increments even though it’s a clear sign of danger, complete with flashing white lights in the form of sharp canines.

“I’m Nami. Why don’t you sit down with us? It’s always nice to meet new friends,” she says, patting the seat next to her and nearly purring.

Sanji hesitates, glancing back towards the kitchen. “Oh, I probably shouldn’t. I’m still working.”

“Aww not even for a little bit?” She gives Sanji her best pout. Sanji bites his lip and starts wringing his hands together nervously, unable to deny her. Zoro has the sudden urge to reach out and hold his hands. From the way Nami’s smirking at him, he’s projecting the thought more obviously than he thinks.

“When do you get off work?” asks Zoro. Sanji turns his attention back to Zoro, surprised. From around Sanji’s waist, Nami’s smirk gets wider. She takes another sip of her latte, lowering her lashes in pleasure.

“Pretty late... around ten,” says Sanji reluctantly. “You probably don’t want to wait around that long so-”

“We can meet up another time. You’re probably going to be tired if you have to go out after work. What’s your number?” He tries to keep his tone casual, sliding his phone towards Sanji. Nami nods in approval from behind Sanji’s back.

Sanji blinks but doesn’t seem to find it weird, taking Zoro’s phone to input his contact information. Zoro nearly has to bite his tongue to keep his giddiness at bay. He doesn’t know when the hell he fell so hard but he’s so fucked. And Nami’s a witness to it all.

“Text me your number later,” says Sanji, handing Zoro his phone back. “I don’t have my phone on me right now. The old man is pretty much a stickler for these things.”

“Whipped,” says Zoro because he can’t help it, okay? It’s fun teasing Sanji.

Sanji, predictably, bristles.

“Shut up! That shitty old man does not have me whipped!” yells Sanji. He doesn’t seem to care when another customer startles and nearly drops her coffee in her lap.

Another voice explodes from the kitchen area. “What did you say, shitty eggplant? Stop flirting and get back to work already!”

Nami mouths ‘eggplant?’ at him, but Zoro can only shrug.

“Shut up, old geezer!” retorts Sanji, mouth twisted into a familiar snarl. The kitchen doors open a crack and a spatula comes flying out like a boomerang, hitting Sanji square on the back of the head. Sanji narrows his eyes, glowering at the swinging kitchen doors.

“Anyway, that’s my cue to get back to work,” says Sanji casually, like a spatula didn’t just smack him on the head with deadly accuracy. He picks up the projectile weapon and inspects it for damage. “Shitty old man can’t even keep good care of his own utensils,” he mutters. Lowering his head contritely, he adds, “Nami, I’m so sorry for the disturbance. The latte is on the house. It was absolutely lovely to meet you.” A pause. “It was good seeing you again, Zoro. Here’s the bill.”

With that, Sanji stalks off towards the kitchen doors. Indistinct yelling ensues a moment later, pots crashing to the ground signaling another bout of yelling before it gets quiet again. Some customers look shocked. More than half seem unperturbed.

When Zoro can finally tear his eyes away from the kitchen doors, clutching the bill and still reeling with what feels like the universe’s second major attempt at killing him through another heart-stopping meeting with Sanji, Nami’s giving him this shit-eating grin, hands wrapped around her cup. Her nails click against the ceramic in a quick staccato.

“So that’s Sanji, huh?” she asks, licking her lips. Zoro slouches in his seat.

“I could do better,” Zoro says sullenly, playing with his phone. The screen lights up under his touch. He’s sorely tempted to unlock it just to look at Sanji’s contact info. It takes a monumental effort to stop himself.

Nami gives him a pitying look.

“Zoro… Honey…”

“Don't call me ‘honey’. Gives me the creeps,” mutters Zoro, shoulders hunching forward because he’s so, so _fucked_.

She smirks, shark-like, and leans closer towards him, showing off her canines.

“ _Honey_ ,” she says again, the word cavity-inducing sweet, just to be an asshole, “you two were made for each other.”

Zoro buries his face in his hands and groans. Nami laughs at him.

“You are an awful, awful person,” he mutters into his hands.

“Mmhm. And this awful person just got you your crush’s number so you’re welcome,” she says, sing-song. “I usually accept cash as thanks but since it’s your birthday I’ll be generous and make it free.”

“You suck.”

Nami just hums, leaning back comfortably and taking another sip of her latte. 

 

* * *

 

Zoro’s planning to text Sanji to meet up at another time but somehow finds himself waiting outside the café at ten, death by hypothermia prevented solely by the cup of coffee in his hands. Nami had left earlier with a wink, reassuring Zoro that she was staying with another friend. An archeologist or something. Zoro wasn’t really paying attention.

The night is actually clear for once, the stars barely visible above the glow of light pollution. It’s not snowing, but it’s cold enough that Zoro can see his breath on each exhale, billowing out like smoke. Ice crunches beneath his boots as he shifts in place, shivering lightly.

The street lights are bright in this area, so there are a few pedestrians still milling around, unbothered by the cold. Snow has been pushed halfway onto the pavement to clear the streets, and some cars have been blocked in by the compact snow where they’ve refused to move. Zoro loiters and watches people go by, burrowing his face into Sanji’s scarf. He should really return it soon.

At least, that’s his reasoning for waiting for Sanji if anyone asked. The real reason, of course, is because he has a huge fat crush on Sanji and has no idea what to do about it except wait in the cold for him to come out instead of doing something _reasonable_ like texting Sanji to meet up at another time.

Zoro shivers. Preferably a warmer time.

But, for some reason, he wants to surprise Sanji. Maybe it would make him smile, if Zoro were lucky.

Zoro wants to at least try.

The front door opens and interrupts his thoughts, an older man stepping out to collect the chalkboard sign outside. He has a truly magnificent mustache and an equally impressive chef’s hat perched on top his head. Zoro shuffles out of the way, but the movement seems to attract the man’s attention. The man crosses his arms and looks Zoro over, lingering for a moment on the scarf around Zoro’s neck. He doesn’t say anything, but Zoro starts to sweat despite the cold.

“You need something?” the man finally asks. Zoro gulps but refuses to back down.

“Just waiting for somebody,” says Zoro, expression neutral.

“Hm.”

They stare at each other in silence. Zoro wills his body to stop shivering.

After an endlessly long moment, the man turns to head back inside, ignoring Zoro completely.

“Little eggplant, get the hell out of my restaurant already!” the man yells, looking back at Zoro with a very pointed raised eyebrow. All Zoro can think is ‘oh god, he’s Sanji’s dad and he _knows_.’ Outwardly, Zoro keeps his expression schooled.

“I still have to clean your shit up, shitty Zeff!” comes Sanji’s voice. It’s muffled but somehow still discernable from outside the café. Sanji’s dad – Zeff, apparently – rolls his eyes and gives Zoro a look as if to say ‘do you see what I have to deal with?’ and somehow, impossibly, ‘you better have good intentions, kid.’

Zoro nods. Zeff nods back. It’s good to know someone else speaks the same language of silent-ese.

“Just leave it, little eggplant! You have some other things to take care of!” shouts Zeff.

“You’re a slave driver,” says Sanji, his voice clearer now. Through the glass window, Zoro can see Sanji approaching. He’s shrugging his jacket on and pulling out a cigarette from his pocket. He doesn’t seem to have noticed Zoro yet. Probably because he’s lurking in the shadows like a creep.

The moment Sanji comes within arm’s reach, Zeff’s hand reaches out and ruffles his hair. Sanji squawks in anger, but makes minimal effort to get away, making it easy for Zeff to tug him forward and place a bristling kiss on Sanji’s head. Sanji has to bend down but doesn’t protest save for some quiet grumbling.

“Have fun, Sanji,” says Zeff, pushing him forward. Sanji stumbles across the threshold, nearly dropping his cigarette.

“What?” asks Sanji, bewildered, but then he must notice Zoro’s boots because he looks up, slowly, like he’s dreading the worst. When they finally make eye contact an eternity later, Sanji eyes are wide and disbelieving. He turns back to Zeff, shooting him a betrayed look. Zeff only shrugs and goes back inside, smirking the whole way as he carries the chalkboard sign in with him.

The lock is clicked shut behind him, pointedly.

“Oh my god,” says Sanji, turning red, refusing to look at Zoro.

Zoro clears his throat.

“Hey," says Zoro lamely. Sanji stiffens and slowly turns back to him.

“Hey,” says Sanji.

They stand there awkwardly in silence. Zoro’s coffee is cold by now. He takes a swig anyway and wishes it were alcohol.

“You waited for me,” says Sanji finally.

“Yeah,” says Zoro.

“You could have texted me, y’know.”

“I know,” says Zoro. “But I wanted to wait.”

Something in Sanji’s expression softens. He straightens up and lights up his cigarette. The first exhale of smoke obscures parts of his face, the end of the cigarette a bright cherry red.

“You’re an idiot, marimo,” says Sanji. It’s said fondly with a pleased little smirk. Warmth unfurls in Zoro’s chest, a stark contrast to the frozen state of his thighs.

“And you’re an asshole,” says Zoro. Then he makes the mistake of glancing through the café window. Zeff has his arms crossed and is giving him an impatient look. “And your dad is terrifying so can we get out of here?”

Sanji laughs at that. The warmth simmering in Zoro’s chest balloons outward.

“Zeff? He’s a softie. Don’t let him fool you,” says Sanji. “But it is pretty cold out here.” Sanji waves at Zeff through the window and starts walking. “Let’s go.”

Zoro falls into step beside him, tossing the rest of his coffee into a passing bin. They’re close enough that their elbows bump together as they walk but neither of them pull away.

“Go where?” asks Zoro. 

“My place. It’s closer. I’ll make you something warm,” says Sanji. He mumbles the words around his cigarette, but it manages to stay in his mouth. “I didn’t mean to make you wait outside for so long.”

Zoro shrugs, an involuntary shudder working its way up his spine.

“I wanted to,” he says again.

‘I thought it would make you happy,’ he doesn’t say.

Zoro’s not sure Sanji gets it, but from the corner of his eye, he can see the pleased grin that cigarette smoke can’t quite hide pulling up at the corners of Sanji’s lips.

“Hey, you wanna go somewhere?” asks Sanji. Zoro blinks at him slowly, leaning closer to peer into his eyes. Sanji frowns but doesn’t back away. “What’s your problem?”

“Did you just forget that we were heading to your place?” asks Zoro. Sanji rolls his eyes heavenward. Zoro can see him mouthing something distinctly rude.

“Shut up, you asshole. I meant after.”

“What did you have in mind?”

Sanji hums.

“It’s a surprise. Are you up for it?”

Anywhere is good as long as it’s with you, thinks Zoro. A second later he nearly gags at his own thoughts. Some of his disgust must show on his face because Sanji gives him a weird look.

“Isn’t it kind of late to go out?”

“It’s the perfect time to go out,” replies Sanji, vaguely.

Zoro shakes his head. “Right,” he says. “Lead the way then.”

“Great,” says Sanji, and when he smiles it’s wide and sincere. It makes his eyes crinkle at the corners and Zoro’s heart stutters in his chest for the umpteenth time in as many minutes. “Let me just grab some supplies and we’ll head out.”

“This almost sounds like you’re trying to lure me somewhere to get rid of me permanently.”

“Now why would I do that?” asks Sanji with mockingly wide eyes. He looks up and down the street as if to say ‘who me?’ Zoro rolls his eyes.

“Because you’re a huge bastard. Obviously. And a loser, too.”

“You’re an asshole.”

“If you try and kill me, I’ll beat your ass.”

“Don’t worry, marimo, I’ll make sure you get home safely before curfew and that you don’t get lost,” says Sanji, all fake sincerity.

“I never get lost,” says Zoro.

“Uh huh. Then why are you going that way instead of this way?”

Zoro stiffens and turns around. Sanji’s standing at the intersection they just passed, pointing towards the left. To Zoro’s horror, he can feel his cheeks redden. Sanji’s smile widens into a full blown shit-eating grin, and Zoro swipes at him, growling.

“Shut up,” he mumbles, trying to hip check Sanji into a postbox.

Sanji sidesteps him easily and into the circle of light cast by one of the street lights, laughing, bright and carefree. His feet skids on the ice, but he regains his balance easily, both hands in his pockets as he smiles around his cigarette.

“C’mon. It’s this way,” says Sanji, tilting his head to the left in gesture. The streetlight turns Sanji’s hair golden.

Zoro is helpless but to follow him.  

 

* * *

 

“You really are trying to kill me, aren’t you?”

They’re driving outside the city, heading north. According to Sanji, anyway. It’s been about an hour since they left the café, forty minutes since Sanji threw a thermos into his car and shoved Zoro into the passenger seat, and one minute since they slung insults at each other. Zoro has no idea where they’re going.

The road is dark and empty, with only reflective markers dotting the sides to keep drivers from crashing into the surrounding forest. Pine trees line both sides of the road, spines dark against the near black of the night sky, sprinkled with billions of blinking stars revealed after leaving the heady glow of light pollution from the city. The further north they go, the more the trees thin. Sanji has both hands on the wheel, leaning forward and white-knuckled.

“I have winter tires,” he had said. Not that seems to have helped his anxiety at all if the scowl on his face is anything to go by.

“Shut up,” says Sanji. “I’m trying to drive. Don’t distract me.”

“If you were a better driver, you wouldn’t get distracted in the first place, curly brow.”

“Don’t make me kick you out of this car,” threatens Sanji. Zoro almost scoffs in his face. The first thing Sanji had done after shoving him into his car was loudly demand Zoro put on his seatbelt. Sanji’s threats are empty and weak.

“Your threats are empty and weak, shit cook,” says Zoro.

Sanji grits his teeth but continues to drive like a model citizen, never taking his eyes off the road. This far out of the city, the blanket of snow is thicker and undisturbed, forming white dunes against the sides of the road.

Zoro leaves him alone for the moment, because he’s a generous person and Sanji should be _thankful_ , opting to rummage around Sanji’s car for lack of anything else to do. There aren’t many places he can actually reach though, just the glovebox and the passenger sun visor. Zoro flips on the dome light and starts snooping.

“That’s illegal,” says Sanji. Zoro ignores him. Opening the glovebox reveals a bunch of cassette tapes that are neatly labelled in a near illegible scrawl.

“Cassette tapes? Really? How old are you?” 

“Shut up, marimo. Stop snooping, bastard, and turn off the light.”

“You can’t tell me what to do,” says Zoro, digging through the glovebox to prove a point. He’s not even looking for anything. He just wants to annoy Sanji.

“Stop that!”

“Got something to hide, shit cook?”

“No, you’re just messing up my stuff, asshole.”

Zoro turns his head in Sanji’s direction and, without looking away, puts his hand back into the glovebox and starts digging through them again. The plastic cases of the cassette tapes clack together loudly.

“Oh my god,” says Sanji. And then he finally takes his eyes off the road and turns to glare at Zoro, the tense line of his shoulders relaxing to the familiar twitch of irritation. Sanji shakes his head and turns back to the road. “Just put one of them in already if you insist on messing up my collection.”

“Don’t really feel like it,” says Zoro, shutting the glovebox. Or tries to. The cassette tapes rattle in protest. Zoro has to shove the glovebox closed a few times before it actually clicks shut.

Sanji groans, leaning back so that he isn’t hunched over the steering wheel. “You are unbelievable.”

“Not as unbelievable as that eyebrow of yours,” says Zoro.

“I hate you. Have I told you that already? Because I really hate you.”

“Shut up. You’re so dramatic.”

“ _You_ shut up.”

“No, _you_.”

“ _No, you_.”  

Zoro’s about to reply with something impossibly thought provoking when something in the corner of his eye catches his attention as they crest a hill.

“Wait- What is _that_?”

The tree line falls away to reveal a lake, frozen over and dusted with snow. Distant mountains line the horizon, sloped and jagged. But above all that, floating above the lake are brilliant streaks of green, meandering slowly across the night sky in waves of light.

Sanji smiles, finally relaxing after almost an hour of driving.

“Guess we’re lucky today,” he says. His smile morphs into a full blown grin. “Those are the northern lights.”

Zoro finally tears his eyes away to look at Sanji, and finds that he has no idea what to say. This feels like something a lot more than just a ‘surprise.’

As they approach the lake, the road widens to the side for cars to stop and sightsee. Sanji slows and pulls the car over. At this time of night, there’s no one else around.

“Isn’t it illegal to park on the side of the road?” asks Zoro absently. He directs the question to Sanji’s profile where he’s somewhat illuminated by the green light. He must have turned off the dome light in the car without Zoro even noticing.

Sanji’s jacket shifts as he shrugs. “Not here. But it’d still be worth it,” he says.

They both get out of the car. Immediately, Zoro’s hit with a chill like no other. It’s not horrendously windy but the temperature is definitely lower than in the city. His breath is visible when he breathes. Zoro tucks his hands under his armpits but can’t bring himself to look away from the sky where strips of bright green illuminate the night.

“Here,” says Sanji, offering him a cup of something hot and steaming. Zoro immediately takes hold of it.

“What is it?” he asks, even though he doesn’t really care. Just that it’s hot and will prevent him from dying out in the frozen wilderness. 

“Hot cocoa.”

Zoro hums and takes a sip. It tastes good. Typical.

Zoro grunts in thanks, tugging the scarf Sanji had given him up to his chin. He doesn’t mean just for the hot cocoa. Sanji nods in understanding. They stand there in silence, a shoulder width apart, watching the light ripple across the skyline. Zoro holds the cup of cocoa in his hands and wishes it were Sanji’s hand instead. He takes an extra large gulp to purge himself of the thought before he can do something embarrassing. It burns his tongue but Zoro swallows it down gamely along with words too heavy to say.

Zoro glances at Sanji from the corner of his eye. He looks a little melancholy, which is pretty weird considering what they’re looking at. And just like that, Zoro can’t seem to really take his eyes off Sanji despite the brilliance of the northern lights that flicker among the stars.

There’s something heavy in the air between them, filled with both hesitation and anticipation. Zoro waits for Sanji to break the silence.

After a few minutes, Sanji speaks. “My mom used to take me every year to look for the lights,” he says, his voice low and quiet, a secret hanging in the space between them. “Sometimes we wouldn’t see it. Sometimes we would. It didn’t really matter to me either way. It was just fun to go looking for it. But when we did find it, it felt like we could do anything we set our minds to, y’know?”

Sanji’s still looking up, the line of his bare neck exposed to the chilly air, but he doesn’t seem bothered by the cold. “Why don’t you still do it?” asks Zoro.

Sanji blinks heavily, still staring up at the night sky. His fingers tap against the plastic cup of his hot cocoa, the sound muted in the air. His throat works as he swallows. “She died. He left.”

“He?”

“My biological father.”

He says it casually but the tense line of Sanji’s jaw gives away his emotions. He blinks rapidly, and Zoro thinks he probably isn’t seeing the lights anymore.

“What an asshole,” says Zoro, and for once actually means it. There are worse words to describe someone who could make Sanji look like this, miserable and vulnerable and _lonely_ , blinking rapidly but unseeingly at the northern lights, but Zoro settles for something mundane if only to chase away the shadows that flicker across Sanji’s face.

Sanji snorts in agreement, bringing his cup of cocoa up to his lips. “You have no idea,” he mutters into the rim.

Zoro hesitates before asking, “Why did he leave?”

A light wind rustles the trees, sending a dusting of snow swirling about their feet. Sanji shifts in place and then turns to look at Zoro. The lights illuminate his profile from the side, his expression partially cast in shadow.

“I don’t know,” whispers Sanji. His voice comes out small and hoarse. He clears his throat roughly. “I don’t even know why I’m telling you all this. It doesn’t even matter.”

Zoro’s heart clenches in his chest. He wants to reach out and tug Sanji closer so that they’re pressed together. Maybe it would help Sanji know he’s not alone.

He doesn’t.

“It does matter,” Zoro says instead. “If it’s important to you, it matters.”

Sanji’s still facing him, expression unreadable. Zoro gazes back at him, trying to project his resolution and sincerity, until he looks away. They lapse back into silence, both looking over the frozen lake and the northern lights that wave above them, unconcerned.

Zoro lets the silence linger between them, comfortable to leave Sanji to his own thoughts. Then, without him noticing, Sanji inches closer until their shoulders bump. Zoro’s hot cocoa nearly sloshes over his fingers.

“Thanks, Zoro,” mutters Sanji, quiet enough that Zoro barely hears.

Zoro nudges at Sanji, enough that Sanji knows Zoro understood. Sanji sways but presses back against Zoro almost immediately. Zoro can feel the line of Sanji’s arm against his own, warm and sturdy. He smiles privately, burrowing the lower half of his face into Sanji’s scarf.

“Anytime,” he says.

 

* * *

 

The ride back is quiet. Sanji’s been trying to repress his yawns for the last ten minutes (it’s not working) and seems a lot more relaxed than the ride over. Whether that’s because it’s one in the morning or because he’s been up for god-knows how long, Zoro doesn’t know.

The green wave of light from the aurora has faded into a more general glow across the sky, bright enough to somewhat illuminate the snow along the road. Zoro watches as the tree cover becomes denser as they head south towards the city.

Sanji lifts a hand from the steering wheel and presses at his bottom lip with his thumb, like he’s craving a cigarette but refuses to indulge.

“Stay over,” he says. It’s phrased as a demand but is more like a request than anything else. Zoro watches the side of his face, from the gleam of his eyes in the dark to the thumb pressed against his lip.

“Okay,” says Zoro easily.

Sanji yawns again, apparently satisfied enough with Zoro’s answer that he doesn’t say anything else. He returns both hands to the steering wheel and does a little shake to help himself wake up, sighing softly.

A mixture of curiosity and boredom makes Zoro open the glovebox again. A cassette immediately falls out. The writing on the label is still indiscernible, no matter how Zoro squints, so he picks it up and shoves it back in the compartment without much care. Sanji’s mouth opens wide in another yawn. He doesn’t seem to notice or care what Zoro’s doing and Zoro is comfortable with letting the silence linger.

He reaches up for the sun visor.

When Zoro flips it down, there’s a photo tucked into one of the pockets, the edges wrinkled with age. In it is a woman, with what looks like blond hair and a familiar smile. It’s hard to tell in the darkness of the car. She’s holding a boy on her lap, maybe six years old, who shares the same grin, hair falling across one eye. Her chin rests on top of his head, and they’ve both curled their hands in such a way that it forms a heart at the camera. In the background is the lake.

Zoro stares at it for a moment, and then flips the sun visor back up.

 

* * *

 

They stumble into Sanji’s place at around two in the morning. Neither of them bother to wipe their feet. He knows the snow will melt in minutes and leave gross grey puddles in the entranceway, but Sanji doesn’t say anything so Zoro can’t really bring himself to care. Zoro peels off his boots and immediately falls facedown on Sanji’s couch.

“You’re going to hate yourself in the morning if you sleep like that,” says Sanji, sounding just shy of yawning again.

“Mrm,” says Zoro into the cushions. “It’s already morning. Who cares.”

Sanji yawns. Zoro takes it as agreement. Sanji’s brain apparently doesn’t work this late because he doesn’t reply, ambling off to do who-knows-what. The last thing Zoro hears before he falls asleep is the sink turning on in the washroom.

At least, until he’s rudely jolted awake by a sharp poke to his back.

“What the fuck,” grunts Zoro, except the words never really form and he ends up just groaning. He shifts and is immediately aware of how sore he is. “What the fuck,” he says again, more coherently this time.

“Get your ass off the couch, marimo.”

“Why?”

“It’s too small,” says Sanji. Zoro tries to ignore the way his feet are hanging off the arm of the couch. “You’re going to be sore soon if you’re not already.”

Zoro lets the silence speak for itself. Sanji sighs.

“C’mon,” he says. “We can share my bed.”

Zoro finally peels his eyes open. Sanji’s staring down at him, somehow still awake enough to scowl. Only minutes must have passed since he fell asleep. Zoro knows it’s common courtesy to at least try and protest Sanji’s offer, but the way he’s laid out on the couch means he already has a crick in his back, and, honestly, the appeal of being closer to Sanji is hard to resist.

“Fine,” mutters Zoro, lifting himself to his feet. He barely has enough brain power to shuffle after Sanji when he leads them the five steps to the bedroom. The moment he sees the bed, Zoro leans forward and lets gravity do the rest of the work. He hits the bed with a soft _mmph_. There’s the quiet sound of Sanji either laughing at him or sighing at him, but Zoro just burrows further in to the blankets, comfortable and sleepy.

“At least get under the sheets, dumbass.”

Zoro lets out an obnoxiously fake snore.

“You are a pain in my ass, marimo,” Sanji sighs. A second later, a blanket falls to cover him. Zoro cracks his eyes open and catches the fond look on Sanji’s face before he turns away and slips into bed on the other side, turning off the light as he passes the switch.

Zoro stays awake long enough to make sure Sanji falls asleep first, relishing the warmth from Sanji’s side of the bed. He gives Sanji one last glance, leans forward to tuck the blankets more securely around Sanji’s shoulders, and then closes his eyes, falling asleep next to him.

 

* * *

 

The next morning, after having his fill of breakfast, Zoro’s putting his boots on in the entranceway, Sanji leaning against the wall, watching him in an almost exact repeat of their first goodbye. They’re both quiet again, and Zoro has the almost irrepressible urge to turn around and tug Sanji into his arms.

He doesn’t.

Sanji hands him another container full of food, this time some kind of seafood pasta. As he moves, sunlight catches on something on the counter. It’s the photograph. It’s upright this time, barely visible from the glare of the sun reflecting off the glass, but Zoro can see that it’s a family portrait. The woman from the photograph in Sanji’s car is in it, along with a few more people Zoro doesn’t recognize.

They look happy.

Sanji notices him looking and gives him a weak smile that looks brittle and fake.

“Yeah, that’s them,” he confirms.

Zoro glances back at the photo, thinks back to the photograph tucked in the sun visor of Sanji’s car, worn at the corners from the passing years.

“You look like her,” says Zoro.

Something in Sanji’s expression crumples.

“Thanks,” croaks Sanji, ducking his head. But Zoro can see that he’s smiling wider now, more genuine despite how watery it is, wobbling along the edges.

It would be so easy, _so easy_ , to just cup Sanji’s jaw, to tilt his chin up, to pull him closer.

It would be even easier to kiss him.

Zoro doesn’t.

“Thanks for- everything,” he says haltingly. Zoro wonders why their goodbyes are always so goddamn awkward. “I’ll see you around.”

Sanji waves, eyes bright, smile smaller but no less open. He doesn’t reply.

It’s only when he’s halfway home, with snow falling in little tufts of ice, that Zoro realizes he forgot to return Sanji’s scarf.

 

* * *

 

“I’m an idiot.”

“Yes, I know.”

“Why do I even talk to you?”

“Because you wouldn’t have gotten Sanji’s number otherwise.”

“...”

“That’s what I thought.”

“I should have done something. I don’t know. Kissed him, maybe.”

“You’ll get your chance. Don’t worry. Just be patient, Zoro.”

 

* * *

 

It’s dark when Zoro's almost home from work. The cloud cover is dense enough to prelude a storm, snow falling steadily from the sky in waves, the city lights casting an orange glow that is reflected back from the cloud cover.

Zoro’s in the middle of cracking his jaw in a yawn when he nearly slips, _again_ , on the _same patch of ice_ the first time around, jolting him into full wakefulness. The tail ends of Sanji’s scarf slap him in the face.

He’s not too sure who's supposed to de-ice and shovel the sidewalk but Zoro’s nearly face planted every time he’s outside of his apartment complex. The neighbour across the street probably thinks he's some kind of drunk idiot. Zoro has never gotten drunk in his life. What the hell does the neighbour know. He glares across the street, and immediately feels stupid when he's just met with a startled old lady. She hurries into her building.

“You’re a hazard to society,” says a voice behind him.

Zoro’s heart jumps and he spins around, trying hard not to slip.

It’s Sanji.

And really, it’s just fucking typical that Sanji would be the one person to witness every single moment life decides to make Zoro look like a completely dysfunctional dumbass.

An unlit cigarette is lazily perched between Sanji’s lips, a grocery bag dangling from his wrist. Both hands are stuffed in his pockets to ward off the chilled air and his hood, complete with faux fur, is up. The streetlights cast long shadows across his face, but he looks less exhausted this time, only tired, with one visible cowlick sticking up from his forehead. Some snow has settled on his hood, sparkling in the dim light. The wind picks up enough to send the cowlick waving back and forth.

“What the hell are you doing here,” says Zoro in lieu of a proper greeting, but it’s not like Sanji has the decency of a normal human being either. Besides, it’s better than saying some of the other thoughts swirling through his head like ‘you look good’ or ‘I’ve missed you even though it’s only been a few days’ or ‘I like you so much I don’t know what to do with myself.’

As a child, Zoro was prone to thinking he was indestructible, but adulthood has only taught him that while you can’t exactly die from embarrassment, you can and will feel your soul shrivel up before it attempts to abandon your body altogether.

Sanji raises an eyebrow.

“Heading home.” Sanji frowns. “Don’t you remember where I live?”

Zoro hesitates.

“Yes,” says Zoro unconvincingly.

Sanji rolls his eyes. He seems to do that a lot around Zoro.

“I know what I’m doing. Directions and stuff. Easy,” says Zoro, eyes sliding to the side. The snow’s piling up enough that the cars parked along the side of the road are going to be covered soon.

“Uh huh,” says Sanji skeptically. “Just like how you know what you’re doing as you slip on the same patch of ice you did last time. You know you’ve been at my place twice, right? You should at least know the general direction.”

“Shut up, stupid cook. Curly brow. Pervy eyebrows.”

“Are we seriously doing this.” Sanji pauses. “Marimo.”

Before Zoro can reply with a, no doubt, awesomely witty retort, he’s interrupted by a sudden strong gust of wind, battering at them hard enough that it almost feels like ice cold needles. Sanji stumbles from the force.

“Holy shit, that’s cold,” says Sanji, shivering and curling his shoulders forward to protect what little warmth he can.

“How do you people live in this hellhole?” asks Zoro, clutching at Sanji’s scarf so it doesn’t fly away. The fabric is frozen where his breath was focused, gently crackling under his grip.

“Shut up,” says Sanji half-heartedly. “It’s not so bad once you get used to it.”

Another gust of wind howls in the distance, sending snow scraping along the pavement like sand. Fat, icy snowflakes are starting to come down in droves. The windows above them rattle ominously. They’re hit with the full force of the wind a second later, complete with a fresh bombardment of snow.

“You are so full of shit,” says Zoro, gritting his teeth to stop them from chattering. Sanji doesn’t seem to be faring any better, nearly biting his cigarette in half.

“Shut up,” mutters Sanji. “It’s not even January yet. That’s when the real cold sets in. And you’re probably going to end up frozen in a snowbank because you got lost trying to find your way back to this exact spot.”

“Oi.”

“And because you apparently don’t know your own streets,” continues Sanji, completely ignoring Zoro because he’s a _huge_ jerk, “you’ll probably end up outside my doorstep and then I’ll have to deal with your corpse.”

“I never get lost,” mutters Zoro. “And just for that I’m going to freeze right outside your place just to spite you.”

“Oh good, you’ll probably get lost trying to find my place if you’re deliberately looking for it.”

“You are such an asshole,” says Zoro. He’s about to say something else, or potentially smack Sanji on the back of the head, but they’re interrupted by another gust of wind. It’s stronger than the last one, enough to make Sanji stumble forward. Zoro reaches out to steady him.

“Crap,” mutters Sanji, glancing at the cloud cover and checking his watch. His foot taps out a nervous rhythm, ice cracking beneath his feet as he shuffles in place to keep warm. Louder, he says, mouth downturned, “I should get going. I don’t want to be caught up in a blizzard.”

Maybe it’s the cold that’s gotten to Zoro’s brain, or maybe it’s the quiet regret Zoro might be imagining in Sanji's voice, but Zoro acts before he can really think about it.

Sanji startles when Zoro’s hand reaches out and gently loops around his arm. Even in Zoro’s loose grip, Sanji seems frozen in place. His eyes go round and wide, lips parting open in shock. His cigarette falls and is immediately lost in the brewing storm. Sanji recovers quickly, grimacing and yanking his arm free. The grocery bag bumps against their legs.

“What?” says Sanji, nervous and skittish and, for some reason, embarrassed. The snow falling around them is heavy enough now that visibility is reduced to only a few metres, but Zoro only has eyes for Sanji.

Zoro doesn’t drop his hand, letting it hover awkwardly between them. He’s not really sure what to say. Sanji confuses him; the way he acts and what he says is sometimes in complete opposition. It’s like he knows what to do when someone insults him, seems to enjoy the banter and butting heads, but Sanji doesn’t seem to know what to do with any gestures of affection, even with something as simple as a hand on his arm.

Zoro glances down at his throat. Sanji isn’t wearing a scarf again, hasn’t worn one since they first met – he must have given Zoro his only one.

“Come inside, curly brow,” says Zoro. It comes out a lot like a request, his voice soft and low.

Sanji gives him an unreadable look, searching his face intently for answers to a question never asked. Zoro doesn’t know what he finds, but eventually Sanji deflates and nods.

Zoro lets his hand drop, hovering over the small of Sanji’s back as they step inside.

 

* * *

 

Zoro’s apartment is, in a word, empty.

To be fair, he’s only moved in recently, and it’s not like he had a lot of stuff before anyway. Most of the things he’s brought with him are gifts from friends, including an ironic bottle of sunscreen from Nami.

“In case you get a serious case of sunburn from all the snow,” she had said. Sometimes Zoro wonders how they ever became friends.

Many of his belongings are still in boxes, but Zoro has never really managed to muster up enough energy to unpack everything.

Sanji walks into the place like he’s in a museum. He tries very hard not to touch anything and takes a long time just to take his jacket off. He only sits down when Zoro pushes him onto the sofa. Zoro takes his grocery bag away from him and shoves it into the fridge.

“Here, I’ll leave the scarf and your containers next to your stuff so you remember take it back home with you tomorrow,” says Zoro. He’s kind of embarrassed it took him so long to return Sanji’s things.

Sanji doesn’t seem to notice, shaking his leg nervously. Zoro doesn’t think he’s ever seen Sanji so uneasy before. It’s weird. He’d considered them at least friends or something, but Sanji is so high-strung right now it makes Zoro wonder if his apartment’s visibly dirty or something, which would be fair considering he hasn’t cleaned this place since he moved in.

“Tomorrow?” asks Sanji. The static from Sanji’s hood has left his hair in disarray, clinging to his forehead and partially obscuring his face.

Zoro pauses.

“Do you think the storm’s going to pass before tomorrow morning?” One look outside the window shows that the storm is now in full force.

“Shit. I guess not.” Sanji rubs his face tiredly and blinks slowly, gaze unfocused. “Sorry for intruding.”

“I invited you in, stupid cook.” Zoro hesitates, and then says, “Besides, I didn’t want you to freeze to death out there.”

“I thought you were the one planning to freeze outside my place, marimo.” Sanji smiles at him. It’s a little frayed at the edges, but still worth it to see.

Zoro glares at him and crosses his arms. “Whatever. I’m tired as fuck so I’m gonna head to bed. My bed’s a pullout so we’re going to have to share.”

Sanji’s eyes widen and he launches himself off the sofa like it has burned him.

“What?! No, that’s...” Sanji pauses to spin around like he’s looking for another couch or bed to spring out of thin air. “If you have a spare blanket I can take the floor.”

Throwing off the cushions to the side, Zoro yanks out the bed. The wooden frame squeaks loudly. Zoro turns to Sanji, arms crossed.

“Curly brow, don’t be stupid. We’re sharing. We’ve _already_ shared. I don’t have spare blankets so you’re just going to have to deal.”

“But-”

Zoro places a hand on his shoulder. Sanji immediately freezes, giving Zoro the perfect opportunity to push him onto the futon. Sanji goes down without resistance.

“Get comfy, asshole,” says Zoro.

Sanji’s gaping at him from where he’s sprawled on the futon like he can’t believe Zoro would push him onto a very comfortable mattress to sleep in when they’re both exhausted. Zoro shakes his head. He can’t believe he likes this idiot.

When Sanji makes to sit up, Zoro leans forward and presses him back down. Sanji stares up from under him, irritation building up to a maximum if the way his eyebrow is twitching is any indication. Zoro only stares back, undaunted. They seem to have a lot of these staring contests where they wait for someone to yield.

It’s not going to be Zoro this time.

Sanji seems to realize this soon enough because he relaxes minutely and starts sulking.

“Well, if you insist,” he says. Zoro leans off him for a moment but doesn’t move away from the bed in case Sanji’s trying to trick him. Slowly backing away, Zoro makes to grab for the blankets. He sniffs at them as subtly as possible. They don’t really smell like anything particularly offensive. Maybe a bit like the cardboard box they came in. Good enough.

“I didn’t even get to brush my teeth,” complains Sanji from behind him. When Zoro turns to look at him, Sanji’s still laying on his back, staring at the ceiling, blinking slowly. Zoro dumps the blankets on top of him. There’s a muffled squeak of protest but Sanji still doesn’t move.

“You can just borrow mine,” says Zoro. Sanji blearily slaps his way out of the pile of blankets and gives Zoro a slow, incredulous look.

“…Ew.”

Zoro glares at him.

“There’s a box of unopened ones in the closet,” says Zoro. And because he wants Sanji to know he isn’t completely useless, he adds, “Got it on sale.”

Sanji hums and still doesn’t move. He looks like he’s on the verge of falling asleep already, eyes closed, warm and comfortable from the weight of the blankets. Zoro goes to poke him on the cheek and ends up brushing his bangs away from his face instead.

“If you want to shower or whatever you should probably do it now before you go to sleep,” he says.

Sanji hums again, subconsciously leaning towards the warmth of Zoro’s hand. Zoro jerks his hand away like he was burned. He might as well have been if the burning in his cheeks is anything to go by.

Clearing his throat, he goes to poke Sanji on the cheek. It’s squishy and prickly with a faint hint of stubble.

“Oi. Curly brow.” An annoyed sound erupts in the back of Sanji’s throat. “Curly brow. Shitty cook. Wake up. This is your last chance or else I’m just going fall right on top of you and go right to sleep.”  

Sanji lets out a noise similar to a dying animal and rolls off the mattress, landing on his hands and knees. He blinks at the floor like he didn’t know it was there.

“Jesus Christ,” says Zoro. Reaching down, he helps Sanji get up and shoves him towards the bathroom. Sanji nearly trips on his own feet on the very short walk there, and ends up leaning on Zoro for most of the way.

“Don’t make me get in there with you, curly brow,” says Zoro.

Sanji pries his eyes open.

“You are such an asshole,” he says. Then his brow crinkles. “Don’t you want to get ready for bed too?”

“Are you kidding me? I’m way too tired for that shit. I’ll just do it in the morning.”

“You are disgusting.”

“Shut up and get in the shower already,” says Zoro, punctuating it with a shove. “You smell.”

He doesn’t, but the comment makes Sanji jolt awake in irritation. Sanji nearly stumbles with the force of Zoro’s shove and looks over his shoulder to glare at him, but then he relaxes, nodding gratefully. The door closes shut between them.

Zoro leaves the light on for Sanji to navigate his way back and shucks off his shirt. It still smells like alcohol and overpriced food but he’s too lazy to grab a new one to sleep in. Zoro promptly falls into bed with a sigh, pulling the blankets up to his chin. He barely notices when the shower turns on, falling asleep almost the instant his head hits the pillow.

 

* * *

 

The squeak of the bedframe brings Zoro back to awareness slowly. Someone is moving carefully in the dark, slow and quiet to not disturb him. There’s a faint smell of soap in the air, an increase in humidity from the shower. The bed dips slowly as Sanji tries to settle into the corner of the mattress without disturbing the blankets.

“You’re so stupid, idiot cook,” Zoro mumbles, opening his eyes to a slit. Or, at least, that’s what he means to say, but the words come out garbled and sleep heavy. Sanji freezes.

“Hey. Sorry,” says Sanji quietly. It’s too dark to really make out Sanji’s features, but Zoro can see him fiddling with the cuffs of his shirt, tugging them over his hands like they’re cold.

Distantly, Zoro can hear the rush of snow outside, the howling of the wind between the buildings, but he’s more focused on Sanji’s weight on the bed, the tense bow of his spine, the uncertain silence hanging in the air.

Before Zoro can let his mind ruin the moment with something stupid like _thinking_ , he lifts the covers and pulls Sanji towards him. Sanji resists at first but lets himself be pulled into bed, Zoro’s arm draped over his waist. Sanji is still warm from the shower, and the scent of Zoro’s shampoo is stronger now that Sanji’s tucked under Zoro’s chin.

“You’re so stupid, idiot cook,” Zoro says again, this time into Sanji’s hair. It’s nice, Zoro thinks sleepily, curling his arm tighter around Sanji. “You’re nice and soft,” he tries to say. Luckily his mouth doesn’t cooperate, and he just ends up nuzzling into Sanji’s skin.

Sanji doesn’t say anything so Zoro lets himself fall back into a doze, warm and content. As he starts falling back to sleep, his breath evens out, and Sanji relaxes bit by bit.

Zoro is nearly asleep when he feels Sanji scoot closer, an arm snaking up to rest along his side. His breath is warm against Zoro’s throat. Sanji’s nose pokes against his collarbone, but Zoro doesn’t mind.

He doesn’t mind at all.

 

* * *

 

Zoro wakes to the smell of heaven.

Or breakfast, to be more accurate. Never has his apartment smelled so nice. If Zoro can wake up like this even just once a month, he’s not going to complain about anything else ever again.

Zoro takes his time opening his eyes, savouring the moment. Sunlight slants through the open blinds in sheets of corrugated gold. A glance outside lets him know the sky is clear even if it’s still disturbingly cold. When Zoro turns his head, he can make out the blond of Sanji’s head. The light hits him in just the right way to make it look like he’s glowing.

Or maybe that’s just Zoro’s infatuation spiralling out of control. Not that he ever had any control over it, but _still_.

Sanji must hear him waking up because he looks over his shoulder and smiles. _Smiles_. It’s a little hesitant but definitely genuine. Black rimmed glasses sit on the bridge of his nose. Zoro’s starting to feel drunk.

“Hey. Finally awake I see,” says Sanji. His clothes are rumpled from sleep and his hair is a mess, but he looks good. Amazing, even. A cup of what looks like coffee rests by his elbow, half empty.

“Mm,” says Zoro, burying his face into his pillow. It’s partially because the bed is too comfortable to leave and partially because he doesn’t want Sanji to see how lovestruck he is.

“…You’re one of those people who are completely useless in the morning, aren’t you?”

“Mrm,” replies Zoro.

“Well, if you don’t get off your ass soon, you don’t get any breakfast,” threatens Sanji. Zoro lurches out of bed even though he knows full well it’s a weak bluff. He can see Sanji has set aside two plates – ones he’s never seen before in his life – and has clearly made breakfast for at least two people.

“You are _such_ an asshole,” says Zoro, yawning loudly. An unimpressed eyebrow is raised in his direction, and Sanji doesn’t even look away when he flips what looks like eggs.

“Put on a shirt, marimo. No one should see that in the morning.”

“Yeah, yeah, I didn’t mean to offend your _delicate_ sensibilities, stupid cook,” mumbles Zoro, but shuffles off towards his closet to get something to wear anyway. Not because Sanji told him to, but because it’s kind of cold and he’d rather not poke out Sanji’s eye with his nipple. The mental image makes him snicker. Sanji looks over at him curiously and, again without looking away, does a complicated-looking maneuver with his wrist that sends the breakfast contents flying into the air and landing neatly back into the pan.

Zoro shoves the first clean-ish shirt he finds over his head and heads off into the bathroom. When he emerges a few minutes later, Sanji has already set out the plates.

It looks amazing, but Zoro manfully refrains from grabbing the plate with the most food and shoveling it all into his mouth. He has some self-restraint after all, even though he chooses not to exercise it more often than not. His patience is rewarded when Sanji slides the bigger plate towards him, along with a fresh cup of black coffee.

“Thanks,” says Zoro, already stuffing his mouth full of eggs.

They eat breakfast together in companionable silence. Zoro soaks in the sunlight and watches Sanji. He has his phone out and is reading something, maybe the morning news. As his finger moves down the screen, Zoro can see a photograph of a shark. Occasionally, he has to push up his glasses with a finger. The other hand grips his fork, halfway forgotten as he continues to read.

The entire scene is somehow so endearing Zoro finds himself pausing and committing the moment to memory.

He’s not sure if it’s the food, or what Nami likes to call his own special brand of stupidity, or just the way the sunlight falls on Sanji’s face, highlighting the small dimple at the corner of his mouth, but Zoro finds himself struck with an impulse that may put an end to his dignity once and for all.

“You should move in with me,” he says before his brain can stop him.

Sanji drops his fork. The sound of metal hitting ceramic rings loudly in the apartment.

“What?!”

Sanji’s eyes are wide and his lips are parted in shock.

“You should move in with me,” repeats Zoro, slower this time. He shoves another spoonful of eggs into his mouth and chews, waiting for Sanji to reply. It’s taking Sanji an excessively long amount of time to come up with something to say. His mouth opens and closes wordlessly and he’s still staring at Zoro in disbelief.

“That’s-” Sanji’s voice breaks and he has to clear his throat. “Why would I do that. Your place sucks.”

“Then I can move in with you,” says Zoro reasonably.

Sanji apparently doesn’t agree because he blinks hard and shakes his head.

“Why the fuck would I ever agree to that?”

Zoro pauses, fork halfway in his mouth. His tongue presses against the metal prongs thoughtfully. He really didn’t think this through. He can already feel his dignity trying to shrivel up and die. But Zoro pushes on gamely. He’s going to win this. Somehow.

“Well,” he begins, stalling. “Uh. Hear me out.”

Sanji cocks an eyebrow and leans back, crossing his legs, and glaring at Zoro expectantly. “Uh huh. So what’s this genius argument you’ve come up with?”

There aren’t many arguments Zoro can make up on the spot, so he goes with the only one he knows.

“I like you.”

Sanji shoots out of his seat. The table wobbles dangerously. Zoro clutches at his plate. Coffee splashes onto the table. Sanji’s chair scrapes against the linoleum loudly, nearly screeching in time with Sanji’s “WHAT?!”

“Isn’t it obvious?” asks Zoro around another mouthful of eggs.

Sanji stares at him, wide-eyed and bewildered. “What.” He sways in place, running his hand through the mess of his hair. Blond strands of hair come loose. “What the hell is going on.”

Zoro puts down his fork, standing up slowly so that he’s face-to-face with Sanji. Sanji freezes at the movement. He takes hold of Sanji’s hand, preventing him from pulling at his hair. His hand is calloused, with long, elegant fingers, though some of the fingernails are uneven, having been broken off or chewed on. Zoro traces a long, thin scar running from the tip of the knuckle on his index finger to the nail bed. Sanji twitches but doesn’t pull away.

“You drive me insane,” says Zoro.

“This is the weirdest confession ever,” mumbles Sanji. Zoro ignores him.

“You drive me insane,” he says again, drawing close enough that their foreheads touch. Sanji holds his breath but still doesn’t move away, eyes boring into Zoro’s. “I like you so much I don’t know what to do. I want to wake up every day and make you smile, I want you to be happy. I want you to know you are loved.”

Silence.

“Better?” asks Zoro.  

Sanji lets his breath go in a whoosh of air. He holds up a hand in front of his face, but still doesn’t try and move away.

“Okay,” says Sanji finally, expression still hidden behind his hand. His hair sticks up in little clusters of distressed tufts.

“Okay?” parrots Zoro.

“Shut up and let me process this.” Sanji takes a deep breath. “Okay,” he says again.

“…are you broken?”

Sanji gives him a withering look from between his fingers but it’s marred by something more vulnerable. Zoro takes hold of the wrist of the hand Sanji’s holding up between them and gently moves it to the side. Sanji’s face is a brilliant red and he’s looking everywhere but at Zoro.

Zoro touches his forehead to Sanji’s, urging him to continue silently. Sanji lets out a tremulous breath. His hand is warm when it wraps around Zoro’s wrist.

“Um, this is going to sound weird but, uh, I have a thing.”

Zoro’s heart drops.

Sanji must see some of his dismay because he startles and bumps his head to Zoro’s harder than expected.

“Ow,” says Zoro.

“Not like that! I mean to say… uh…”

“What?” Rubbing at his forehead, Zoro waits for Sanji to continue. Sanji mumbles something incoherent. It sounds suspiciously like ‘oh my god.’

“I have… issues,” mutters Sanji.

“Clearly,” says Zoro.

Sanji groans. “Can you just shut up for a moment? I can’t believe I’m about to tell you this.”

Zoro shuts up and waits. Sanji hesitates. Sunlight glints off his eyes so he has to squint against the brightness, but it’s enough for Zoro to see the blue of his eyes.

“Zoro,” says Sanji. Zoro nods for him to continue, brushing their foreheads together. The hand on his wrist tightens. “I have a hard time… accepting things. Things aren’t free. You always have to give something to get something back. Or at least, that’s what I used to think. Even with Zeff, I just- I don’t understand why he cares. And I don’t really understand why you care either. I haven’t done anything for you.” Zoro disagrees, loosening Sanji’s grip on his wrist to tangle their fingers together. He gives Sanji’s hand a brief squeeze, but doesn’t interrupt. “But I’m… I’m working on getting better. I’m getting to a place where it doesn’t matter why you care, just that you do. That’s more than enough.” Sanji swallows nervously. “So, even with all that, are you still okay? With me?”

“You’re an idiot, shit cook,” says Zoro. He turns his head slightly so that their noses bump. “You’ve done a lot for me. And even if you hadn't, of course I’m still okay with you. More than okay. You’re you.”

Zoro brings up their joined hands and lays a chaste kiss on the flat of Sanji’s palm. Sanji makes a strangled noise in the back of his throat. Zoro smiles and places another kiss on the underside of Sanji’s wrist.

“You are unbelievable,” says Sanji. When Zoro looks up, Sanji’s face is still red but he’s grinning, pleased and fond. Zoro can’t help but return the look.

“So is that a yes to the moving in part or what?”

Sanji slides his hand out of Zoro’s grip, only to flick him on the forehead.

“Ow,” says Zoro.

“Yeah, fine,” says Sanji, rolling his eyes in good nature. “For the record, I like you, too, Zoro.”

“You were complaining about _my_ confession and this is what you give me? Four out of ten,” says Zoro, shaking his head in mock disappointment. Sanji’s lips twitch upward.

“You are insufferable,” says Sanji.

“And you’re a loser, curly brow,” retorts Zoro.

“Marimo.”

“Shit cook.”

“Keep talking like that and you won’t get any lunch.”

Zoro narrows his eyes. Sanji inches away from him. They do an odd little dance around the table. Too bad for Sanji, Zoro lives here and knows the terrain better. The moment Zoro rounds the table and has a clear shot, he lunges and tackles Sanji onto the bed. Sanji yelps in surprise.

They’re both laughing as they tumble onto the sheets.

“You’re an idiot,” says Zoro. And then he leans down to kiss Sanji properly, bracketing him in between his forearms.

Predictably, Sanji meets him halfway, a smile on his lips that Zoro gets to taste a second later.

 

**Author's Note:**

> This was pretty different from my normal writing style. Hopefully you enjoyed it :)  
> Any reviews or comments are forever cherished and appreciated, as always. Thank you for reading!


End file.
